One is Not Enough
by mysticknightsofscotland
Summary: Sylar only saved one person, but it was enough. He didn't realize how special saving just one person could be. SPOILERS for Season 4 finale, "Brave New World."
1. Chapter 1

Title: **One is Not Enough**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Heroes. I'm just playing in their world for a little bit.  
**Genre: **angst, hurt/comfort, tragedy  
**Rating:** T, nothing worse than anything in the show.  
**Pairings:** None specifically outside canon. It ain't a romance, folks.  
**Characters:** Sylar, Peter  
**WARNINGS: **Spoilers through the season 4 finale. Takes place after the episode "Brave New World." Character death.  
**Summary: **Sylar only saved one person, but it was enough. He didn't realize how special saving just one person could be.

**A/N:** This chapter is more background / character study, so bear with me. Next chapter will be better, I promise.

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The time spent in his nightmare world served to finally integrate Sylar and Gabriel into one personality. It wasn't as if he had been schizophrenic before, but he learned to stop pretending he was either one or the other. For the first time, he felt as if introducing himself as Gabriel Sylar would be appropriate. The first time he had used it, with Brian Davis, it had been impulsive. He hadn't known then what would happen minutes later. How he would feel the need to distance who he had been from the murderer he had become. Separate the names, separate the personalities.

It had all been an act. He knew who he was. He knew he was a monster. But he also knew he was still Gabriel, somewhere deep inside his heart. Subconsciously, he hid the Gabriel side of him in an effort to protect himself, to not look too closely into the face of the monster.

Gabriel wanted to be special. Sylar's hunger was the dark manifestation of that same desire. Sylar could give both sides what they wanted, but made excuses for his kills to preserve the illusion that innocent Gabriel still existed. Call it an evolutionary imperative, blame it on the hunger, claim that his victims were unworthy and unappreciative of their powers, refuse to admit to himself that he was a serial killer, a psychopath.

He couldn't lie to himself forever though. With everything he'd gone through, it was no wonder he started falling apart from the inside.

After returning to his body and fighting Nathan for control, the truth of his predicament finally started to sink in. Watching Peter struggle to keep his brother alive, even in the body of his enemy, made Sylar wish he had someone to fight for him too. No one cared about him enough to be on his side. They all wanted him dead, gone, suppressed. He buried this realization with Gabriel so he wouldn't have to look any deeper into that train of thought.

But it haunted him just the same, recalling Hiro's prediction that he would die alone, unloved, un-mourned. He tried to dismiss it. Tried to reason that Hiro had been referring to when the shapeshifter James Martin had been burned in his place. Hiro wouldn't have known that his body had been forced into believing he was Nathan. He could see it in Nathan's memories, knew that only three people there that night had known that Nathan was dead, and even those three had thought Sylar was erased forever. It was disconcerting, watching his doppelganger burn. Sad, that Hiro spoke the truth in that context. They had thought him dead, but none of them mourned. They didn't have a party to celebrate, but they weren't sad either. Merely relieved that it was over, as hard as it was to believe.

But he was alive. He had his body back. Hiro's prediction didn't have to come true a second time. The future was not set in stone. He tried to hide from his thoughts, from the hopes and fears he pretended belonged only to Gabriel. But it seeped through, preventing him from killing, breaking apart the mask that was Sylar.

Trapped in the nightmare, he was forced to recognize Gabriel again. Sylar was nothing without his powers, his prey, his enemies. Alone, he had to let Gabriel out to preserve his sanity. There was nothing special about being the only living thing in an empty city. Both his assumed personalities feared the solitude, but blended together they could cope. Focus on watchmaking to pass the time. He didn't know what happened, and he didn't know how to get out, but eventually he came to accept the situation. After all he had done as Sylar, he probably deserved it.

Peter's arrival shook him. After three years living out his worst nightmare, had he finally lost it? His presence took some getting used to. He was both desperate for company and afraid of what it would mean if Peter was only a figment of his imagination. He didn't really entertain the hope of getting out anymore. Just one person other than himself to talk to would be enough, even if that person hated him for who he'd been. But then he accepted Peter's presence and the hope of redemption the man offered with his insistence that he needed Sylar to help save someone. It was a chance to be special again, in a way that would not require him to pretend he was either Gabriel or Sylar and never both. Instead, it called for both Sylar's powers and Gabriel's goodness. He began to believe in hope again.

That was when the wall appeared. More years passed trying to take it down, until Sylar realized Peter was afraid of letting him out of his mental prison. The realization nearly crushed Sylar. How could Peter not realize that he wasn't that Sylar anymore, after all this time? The wall finally cracked when Peter admitted to himself that he had indeed seen the change in Sylar. Funny how that works.

He doesn't make a big deal about the name anymore. Gabriel Sylar, Gabriel Gray, Sylar, whichever people are most comfortable with or used to is fine by him. Most still call him Sylar, but they stop saying it with disgust when they begin to accept him, forgive him, recognize how he's changed.

Sylar knows saving Emma couldn't possibly atone for the dozens he's killed, the pain he's caused. But the experience was enlightening. For the first time, he felt truly special and deserving of the title he had long coveted. He can't imagine becoming as self-sacrificing as Peter the Boy Scout, but being a part-time hero he can do. He's still the strongest and most special of them all. He'd help the other heroes when they need him, when they ask nicely. And he'd slowly earn his redemption while staying true to his nature, true to this combination of kind-hearted Gabriel and confident Sylar he'd become. Maybe by the time the world gets used to the presence of specials and all the media hype dies down, Claire will accept his apologies. If his time in the nightmare is anything to go by, he'd much rather face eternity with a friend, and feels sure she'd come to feel the same. Mortal friends would inevitably die, and after enough deaths, he'd feel just as alone in a sea of humanity as he had in the nightmare. "Friends" is all he dares hope to expect from Claire, although after a hundred years or so, their age difference won't seem so great anymore. But they'd deal with that when the time comes, if she ever forgives him. He just never thought he'd run out of time so soon.

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**A/N:** Next chapter's written differently. And we finally get to Peter!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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When Peter flew to Brooklyn in response to a 911 call for a stabbing in the middle of the night, he wasn't prepared for what he would find. "Stabbing" didn't even begin to describe it.

He ran inside the building without looking at the sign, and only stopped when what he was seeing finally registered in his brain, setting off warning signals. Clocks of every sort lined the walls and shelves, and a disassembled watch lay on the workbench. Cold invaded his limbs as he tore his eyes away from the broken watch to search for the victim.

Peter found him lying face down on the floor in the next room, covered in blood. He knew who it was without having to turn him over to look at the face, and the knowledge chilled him to the bone, almost made him turn and run away. Pale skin tinged with bloodstains showed through dozens of holes in what had once been the back of a rather nice black dress shirt. Dark hair matted with drying blood. It couldn't be possible, and yet it was. Sylar had been taken down.

A moan from the man on the floor got Peter moving again. The holes in Sylar's back had healed, but the gash above his ear still bled when Peter touched it. Something was stopping the healing ability from working. Peter put a hand on Sylar's shoulder in order to roll him over onto his back, but the other man sensed the intended movement. A bloodstained hand jerked up to hold his head above the gash, and Sylar growled in pain, curling himself tighter, resisting Peter's attempts to move him.

"Sylar, it's me, Peter. You've got to let me help you. Why aren't you healing?" Peter moved around to the other side so he could see Sylar's face. His eyes were shut tight, his whole body trembling, as a line of blood continued to trickle across his forehead.

Peter gasped as he realized what was wrong. Sylar was holding his head together! Someone had gotten to Sylar the same way the former killer had taken his victims' abilities. Tears leaked out of his eyes as he tried to heal himself, as if he knew it wasn't going to work. Something had gone wrong inside his brain, and it was slowly killing him as he failed to heal.

Remembering the fear at the heart of the nightmare Parkman had trapped Sylar in, Peter took the other man's free hand in his own, squeezing gently.

"Gabriel," he said calmly, "I'm here. You're not alone. Who did this to you?"

Sylar trembled, struggling to respond without breaking his concentration. His hand nearly crushed Peter's fingers as he gasped out the only coherent syllable he could manage.

"Dad."

Peter returned the pressure with equal force. He had heard about Samson Gray while they were in the nightmare. It seemed a cruel irony that somehow a man dying of cancer had managed to survive long enough to track down and subdue his nearly invincible son. And apparently managed to break him beyond repair like nobody else had ever been able to do.

"Did he get what he came for?" Peter whispered.

Sylar didn't answer. Peter couldn't tell if it was because he didn't know, or didn't want to risk a response. His hand was cold, the painful grip on Peter's fingers weakening. Peter realized it didn't matter what the answer was anymore. Samson was gone. If he was anywhere near as talented as his abandoned son, he would have all of Sylar's stolen abilities added to his own collection. If they were forced to deal with him, he'd be virtually unstoppable. But where Claire had managed to heal after Sylar took her power, Samson seemed to have scrambled Sylar's brain, making his powers useless if not removing them entirely. Whether that was because Samson intended this result or was simply out of practice didn't matter. Peter's mimic ability wasn't picking up anything from Sylar, not even intuitive aptitude, and he knew that his current flying ability wasn't going to help. Nothing was. Sylar's stubborn will and malfunctioning healing ability was all that was keeping him alive right now. It couldn't last. Medically, there was nothing Peter, or anyone for that matter, could do to fix him.

Peter placed a hand over Sylar's other hand, helping him hold the top of his head in place, and settled in to wait as long as it took. Sylar gasped, taking shaky breaths, and more tears fell as he opened his eyes to look at Peter. He looked more like Gabriel now, vulnerable, the last of Sylar's dignity depending on keeping his brain covered despite the pain.

"It's okay," Peter said. "You're not alone. I'm not going to leave you." He watched as Sylar's eyes drifted shut and muscles relaxed somewhat. "I know you'd rather Claire--"

"No," Sylar breathed. "Not like this. Never like this."

Peter figured Sylar was right. If Claire still hadn't forgiven him, he'd rather earn it over the course of decades than to receive it on his deathbed out of pity. Even if her blood could save him. Peter was the closest thing Sylar had to a friend right now thanks to their time in the nightmare. Emma and Matt were the only other two who might have come close. Emma because she hadn't known him before he saved her, and Matt because he had seen into Sylar's mind and decided to hope that the change he'd seen in him would last. Not enough time had passed for the others to start to come around.

After all the harm Sylar had caused, saving one person hadn't been enough to convince anyone who mattered that he wasn't that man anymore. Now he would never get the chance to prove it.

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**A/N:** Sad, isn't it? It was difficult to write, but this was the core of the idea for the story. If you liked it, please Review. The next chapter might be the last, unless there's something more you'd like to see.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

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Sylar knows he's dying. It's stupid, really, to hold on when he knows it's over. Even if he could still use his intuitive aptitude to see inside his own brain and diagnose what's wrong, he knows he wouldn't be able to fix it. An infusion of Claire's blood might do the trick, but Sylar can't bring himself to send Peter away now that he's here. He isn't sure he could last long enough for Peter to come back, with Claire or just her blood. That Claire would help Sylar isn't in question. If she refused to come, Peter would find some way to convince her to give him what he needs.

He realizes he's crying when he feels Peter touch his other hand, hears the rustle of clothing as the other man shifts into a more comfortable position. He opens his eyes, and his breath is shaky as he tries to see through the tears. It's humiliating, really. Why couldn't he have died, or healed, instantly? Why this limbo where he can't seem to do either, leaving him vulnerable to others' stares? If he had died, he wouldn't be crying, weak. He wouldn't be alive to care what people thought when they found him. If he had healed, he could have lied, downplaying the incident if not denying it outright. Even if he admitted to them how it affected him, they wouldn't look at him the way Peter does now.

"It's okay," Peter says. "You're not alone. I'm not going to leave you."

Peter can't know how grateful Sylar is that Peter was the one to find him right now. His words are comforting, reminding Sylar of how they had come to understand each other in the nightmare, and relieving Sylar of the responsibility for deciding if Peter should fetch Claire. He doesn't want to die, but he doesn't want to die alone either. So if Peter says he's staying, Sylar's prepared to accept that decision.

Sylar closes his eyes and relaxes his trembling muscles, trusting Peter to hold the top of his skull in place as he focuses on trying to heal. Even if it takes forever, even if it doesn't work.

"I know you'd rather Claire--"

"No," Sylar cuts Peter off. He doesn't want him to offer to get her now. He's tired. If Peter leaves now, he won't have the energy to hold his head together _and_ remain conscious until he gets back. "Not like this. Never like this." It's an excuse, but a true one. Easier to say, easier to admit.

Had their relationship been different, he might have found the strength to hold on and send Peter away, magical cure she may have or no. As it is, he can't stand the thought of facing her now when all he'd see in her expression would be a mixture of hate, disgust, and a grudging pity. If he was lucky, she might even show some real concern, but if her blood worked and he healed, nothing would really change.

_I'm sorry, Claire._

He finds himself wanting to apologize for dying. He was the one who wanted immortality, never her. She wanted nothing to do with it, wanted to be _normal_. They were supposed to live forever, be each other's anchor in the centuries to come, the only constant in an eternally changing world. Even if it took forever for her to forgive him, even if they went their separate ways, he wants to be there for her if she ever needs him. A friend to turn back to every fifty years or so when the mortals around her die. Now he's abandoning her to walk the world alone forever.

As much as he doesn't wish to see Claire hurt, he can't help hoping she finds an out when she gets tired of living. He wouldn't have believed escape was possible for people like them if he wasn't lying in a puddle of his own blood. He'd heard about Adam Monroe, of course, but thought his death, or maybe his immortality, was just a rumor.

Sylar can sense Peter watching him, not a thought for himself, as the next best thing to a brother, the man with Nathan's memories, dies. Peter's grip on his fingers is firm, but not crushing. He's done this before, been _paid_ to watch people die. He could have gone for help before now, made one last effort to preserve Nathan. Instead, he's here, taking care of Sylar, easing his passing.

Sylar knows now that he's not going to heal. It's been too long, and all he can manage is to remain conscious. What is he waiting for? He's been dead before, so it's not like he's afraid of the unknown. Why can't he just give in to the inevitable, let the pain stop?

He's afraid living alone, afraid of dying alone. But why? The answer is simple, really. It all comes back to the same thing, doesn't it? Being special. He can't be special if he's alone. He can't be special if he's dead.

That's it, isn't it? He's still clinging to the idea of being special. Stupid, really, when he realizes that once he's dead, he won't be able to care about not being special. However special he'd become won't matter in the morning. Nor will his dreams of redemption.

Saving Emma hadn't been enough. Not to Claire. Not to Matt, or Mohinder, or Noah. There isn't anything he can do about it now. No more time, no more chances. No more hope.

And yet Peter is still here. Sylar's not alone. If this small grace is the result of saving one person, maybe it all wasn't such a waste after all. Saving Emma was probably the most special thing he has ever done in his life. Not the most noticeable, surely, or the greatest use of his abilities, but the most worthwhile. After all he has done to hurt Peter and those he cares about, if Peter can stand to sit here in a pool of blood and keep Sylar's fears at bay, then that one act of redemption, of goodness, is enough. Enough to satisfy the hunger. It was never about killing, the powers themselves, or the knowledge of how they worked. The hunger had only ever been about how special collecting powers could make him. But in the end, he'd only needed one.

One power to stop Doyle.

One person to save.

One chance at redemption.

One friend.

His fingers find the strength to grip Peter's hand one more time. His eyes open again, and he looks up at Peter, the tears gone.

"Gabriel?" Peter's eyes glisten in the darkness, holding back the tears he's not ready to shed.

Sylar smiles. _Thank you, Peter._

"Stay with Claire," Sylar says, more prayer than command. His hand goes limp, and his eyes close.

One is enough.

**End.**

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**A/N:** Please Review! Thank you for reading my first FanFic. It was hard getting Sylar's convoluted thought process to stay on track. And yes, the end contradicts the title (or rather the title contradicts the summary), but that's how it's supposed to be.


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